


Tell me if the sun comes shining through

by a_hemmen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (All forms of Natasha are badass), Barista!Bucky, Beefy!Bucky, Bucky is sappy, Chaptered, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Goofy!Clint, Happy Ending, I'm not sure why, M/M, Minor Angst, Modern Steve cusses a lot, Skinny!Steve, Steve is oversensitive, Tattoo Artist!Steve, badass!natasha, dislikers to friends to lovers?, dorky!Bucky, enemies is kind of a strong word, kind of, meet-hate, nerdy!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8779774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_hemmen/pseuds/a_hemmen
Summary: Bucky has been dreaming of opening a coffee shop for years, and it's finally happening. His first customer? Not /exactly/ what he was hoping for. Steve is a tattoo artist that is tired of people judging him on appearance alone. (Though he should probably take his own advice.) Meddling friends are meddling. zacharypay1_Alisa enjoys "meet-hate to friends to lovers with a skinny!Steve and a nerdy!dorky!beefy!Bucky" so hopefully this accomplishes that. I also added my headcannon that Steve, if raised in the 21st century, would cuss like a sailor.Also: see my full list of works on my author page OR at here





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zacharypay1_Alisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacharypay1_Alisa/gifts).



> I was originally going to post this when my work Just Left of Normal reached 10,000 hits, but it's only 30-ish away now, and I'm impatient. So. Here ya go! As of right now, I envision this being less than 10 chapters, but who knows what'll happen. Comments are encouraged and appreciated!
> 
> PSA: It starts off in Bucky's POV, and then switches to Steve's at the bolded XXXX's. All the chapters will probably follow that format until further notice.

Bucky unlocks the door, and the bell rings as he opens it. He’s never been what could be considered a ‘morning person’ by any means, but the sun isn’t up yet, and he’s never been happier. He turns on the lights one at a time, relishing the feeling, and finally flips over the sign that let’s everyone know that _We’re opened!_ He pulls the chalkboard sign outside, thankful that he had Natasha, who has marginally better handwriting than him, proclaim their grand-opening to those on the sidewalk. 

He goes back inside, the chilly March morning air driving him back inside more than anything else. Bucky starts the coffee behind the counter, waiting for his first customer. _His first customer._ He’s dreamed of opening up a cafe since early childhood. Even before he started drinking coffee himself, the smell has always brought back memories of his grandparent’s farm, where he used to spend the summers. His grandma taught him to bake and hold the door for ladies; his grandpa showed him how cuss. 

He can feel himself jump when the bell rings again. He doesn’t even have to fake the smile on his face. “Morning, how can I-”

“What the fuck kind of name is Howling Commandos for a coffee shop?” 

Bucky can’t even process what the stranger said. “Excuse me?”

“Stupid ass name, if you ask me. Though I guess your boss probably thinks it’s cute.” 

The man is _beautiful._ All blonde hair and sharp angles, just on the edge of ‘too skinny to be healthy.’ His hair cut short on the side, with the top longer and styled into messy perfection. Bucky doesn’t even know what to say. 

And then Bucky is knocked out of his trance as the man knocks roughly on the counter. “Anybody home? I need a coffee, like yesterday.” 

Beautiful and rude, apparently. “What kind of coffee would you like?” 

“Uh, liquid?” 

_Oh,_ Bucky stops himself. No more drooling over an asshole. “Black, then?” The man just nods, his eyebrows raised. Buck wants to punch him, hard. But he stops himself. “Sure thing.” He grabs a medium cup and quickly pours the already-made brew. “Need anything else? The chocolate croissants are-”

“I’m good.”

Bucky just nods, giving up on having a polite conversation with the guy. He sets the cup on the counter. “That’ll be $2.10.” 

He’s worried that the guy’s going to complain about the price, but he just throws $3 on the counter and walks away with the coffee. Bucky can’t help but hope that it burns his tongue. Three dollar is three dollars though, and he sets the bills aside, planning to frame them behind the counter. 

Hopefully the rest of his customers are more pleasant. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s had a relatively steady day. The smell of baking bread and fresh coffee bring in enough traffic to keep him busy, at least. After paying the contractor to renovate the building, he hadn’t had a whole lot of money left over, and he’s going to have to primarily rely on word-of-mouth advertising for at least the first couple months. 

There’s an excited stream of teenagers that come in right after school. Maybe he should call some nearby schools, a 10% discount to study groups could probably work out well for everybody involved. School-certified tutors could get 20%. He grabs a sticky note from behind the counter, jotting down the idea to ask Natasha about later. 

“Speak of the devil.” Bucky can’t help but laugh as Nat walks up to the counter. “I was just thinking about some numbers I wanted to run by you.” 

“I’d be happy to help, but no more numbers till I’ve had _at least_ a latte.”

“Rough day at work.” 

“That would be generous.” She looks around the almost-cramped coffee shop. “It doesn’t look like I was less busy than you though. Don’t tell me that you’ve been running this by yourself all day.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, Gabe came over and helped for a couple hours around lunch.”

“Aww, yes. I forgot about Gabe’s _years_ of cafe experience.” 

“Don’t be mean, Nat. He may not be able to make the orders, but he manned the cash register and ran food for me. It helped out a lot.” 

“I told you that you need to hire someone, James. You’re going to run yourself to an early grave.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes as he finishes off another frappucino with whipped cream. “And I told _you_ , Nat. I want to wait a while, make sure this is going to work out first.” 

Nat huffs, but stops arguing. “Your funeral. But really, how has it been going today?”

“Pretty good, no complaints from the customers. The first guy this morning was a real dick, but since then everything’s been great. I almost burned the second batch of chocolate croissants, but I remembered them just in time.” 

He hands Natasha her drink, waving away her money as she tries to pay. “I think I owe you at least a couple drinks, Nat. I wouldn’t have gotten started without you.”

“Don’t make me blush, Barnes. All you needed was a little push.” 

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Steve’s running late. The one day he has to get to the shop early to clean up, and his alarm doesn’t go off. He’s going to murder his landlord. If the jackass wasn’t constantly making illegal connections with the electricity, Steve’s pretty sure it wouldn’t go out all the time. He’s already had to talk to Rumlow about it once; if it keeps up, he’ll call a fucking congressman if he has to. 

The new coffee shop’s signs are lit up. The place finally decided to open. It’s been under reno for months now; Clint was worried it was never going to open up again. It’s only a block and a half to their back-up coffee place, but it’s still fucking annoying. The sweet little old lady who used to run the place moved upstate to be with her family, and Steve is happy for her, but they had gotten used to instant gratification when it came to coffee. She even had Clint’s impressively-complex orders memorized. 

Steve had been expecting something disgustingly modern to have taken the place of his favorite haunt, it would make the months of renovation make sense, but a familiar bell jingles as he pushes open the door, and the smell is vaguely comforting, like Christmas morning at his aunt’s house. 

The guy at the counter is hot, like sinfully hot, if you’re into the kind of guy who finds bench pressing cheerleaders an adequate hobby. He screams ‘flunked out of college after losing my football scholarship and now I’m working a dead-end job for booze money.’ But still, Steve is only human; he’d still fuck the guy (not that, he reminds himself, _all_ humans want to fuck other humans. He’s been drilling Clint on that kind of thing for weeks now, and feels a little bad for the slip-up.) It would probably be therapeutic though, fucking him. Steve could pretend he was fucking all the jackasses from high school who painted ‘queer’ on his locker. 

“Morning, how can I-”

He sees the sign on the wall, and immediately asks the question that he and Clint have been debating for months. “What the fuck kind of name is Howling Commandos for a coffee shop?” 

“Excuse me?” The look on the guy’s face almost makes Steve feel sorry for him. 

Slightly embarrassed by the semi-offensive question, he doesn’t even give the poor schmuck time to answer. “Stupid ass name, if you ask me. Though I guess your boss probably thinks it’s cute.” The guy looks taken aback, but Steve doesn’t yet have the mental capacity to feel bad. That doesn’t come until his second dose of caffeine. “Can I have a regular black coffee?” Steve doesn’t think he mumbled, but the guy doesn’t react, apparently too lost in his own thoughts to respond. “Anybody home? I need a coffee, like yesterday.” Hopefully the other employees here are a little smarter than this guy. 

“What kind of coffee would you like?” 

“Uh, liquid?” He can’t help it; it just rolls off his tongue. Clint always says that no one should talk to Steve until he’s had at least three times the daily recommendation for caffeine, and Steve really doesn’t argue with him on that one. 

“Black, then?” Steve just nods, silently judging the guy. Sure, everybody has a bad day, but _this_ bad? “Sure thing.” He finally starts pouring the coffee, and Steve almost feels jumpy with anticipation. “Need anything else? The chocolate croissants are-”

“I’m good.” Steve knows that he sounds rude, he just can’t find it within himself to care, yet. He’ll feel bad about making the guy’s day shitty later. For now, he just needs the coffee.

“That’ll be $2.10.” The guy has apparently given up on having a conversation, thank god. 

He throws $3 on the counter and grabs the coffee without another word. He should have been at the shop 20 minutes ago. It’s not like there are any appointments for the next couple hours, at least, but there’s still a metric fuck ton of cleaning to be done before people start coming in.

He’s been working at the shop for almost five years now, and owned it for a couple years too, it should really be one of the newbie’s jobs to do the grunt work like this, but he’s an idiot and made a bet against Kate. He’s never going to do that again. Not only did he have an awful hangover the next day, but he has to open for her for a month. He may very well keep the new coffee shop open single-handedly. 

By the time Clint finally moseys his way into the shop, the whole place is spotless. Or, at least close enough to spotless for nobody to pitch a fit. 

Clint wolf whistles as he glances around at Steve’s handiwork. “I knew I paid you for a good reason, Rogers.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I know we split this place 50/50, but _I_ do the payroll, so _technically_ , I pay you.”

Clint just waves his hand lightheartedly. “Details.” That’s when he sees Steve’s coffee cup, sitting empty on the counter, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Did the place next door open?”

“Are you the most unobservant person in Brooklyn?”

Clint leaves the shop, basically at a sprint. It’s a while before he makes it back, though whether that’s because of the complexity of Clint’s order or the fact that the daylight is drawing in a line of people is anybody’s guess. 

“You know that coffee is supposed to wake you up with the caffeine, and not the 12 tablespoons of pure sugar, right?”

Clint just shrugs. “You say tomato, I say ta-ma-toe.”


	2. Chapter 2

Howling Commandos has been open for two weeks, and Bucky hasn’t been this happy in years. He’s busy every second he’s awake, and he hasn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in a month, but he’s happy. The nightmares that have plagued him since his return from Iraq have _almost_ stopped. 

 

His one problem--if you can call it a problem--is the asshole who gets his coffee here every morning. It’s not even the rudeness that bothers Bucky. He’s lived the majority of his life in New York, he can handle a grumpy stranger. But this guy doesn’t just frown at Bucky. It’s more than that. The blonde--who Bucky only dimly thinks of as attractive at this point--seems to judge Bucky for everything that comes out of his mouth.

 

He’s proud to say that he hasn’t made a whole lot of mistakes yet, when it comes to people’s orders. But when he _does_ make mistakes, the same guy is always there, smirking at Bucky like he’s an idiot. 

 

But one lousy customer is hardly worth complaining about. And at least the guy keeps coming back, morning after morning. Besides, there are a couple regulars who Bucky feels like he can count as friends.

 

Out of the regulars that H.C--as they’ve affectionately started to call it--has attracted, Clint has got to be Bucky’s favorite. The man doesn’t shut up, at least not while he’s waiting for Bucky to make his coffee. And he’s adventurous, as long as it’s mostly sugar, he’s willing to try whatever flavor combination that Bucky throws at him. 

 

Clint comes in almost every day too, usually in the morning, and sometimes again in the afternoon. 

 

He hasn’t come in yet today though, so when the bell rings just half an hour before closing time, he’s shocked to see Clint walking through the doorway. 

 

“Too late for a drink?” 

 

Bucky stops wiping off the counter and shakes his head. “For you? Never.”

 

“Now, don’t make promises you can’t keep, Bucky. Or I might wake you up with a very rude phone call sometime.” 

 

Bucky raises his hands in defeat. “Fair, how about, as long as the door’s unlocked, it’s never too late.” 

 

“I guess I’ll take what I can get.” Clint doesn’t even look at the menu, just takes a seat on the stool near the cash register. “Speaking of what I can get, what do you recommend today?” 

 

Bucky looks at the syrups he has out. “It’s a secret, but I’ve got an idea.” Bucky looks at his watch. “It’s getting pretty late, you want decaf?”

 

Clint gasps overdramatically. “Decaf? It’s like you don’t even know me?” 

 

“Ok, ok.” Bucky makes the drink, making sure to hide what he’s doing from Clint. “Up so late for a good reason?”

 

“I have a late-night client at the shop. He works second shift, and sleeps during the mornings, so he can’t come in till 11:30 or 12. I took today off so that I wouldn’t be dead-tired while working on him.” 

 

Bucky finishes the latte off with a sprinkle of cinnamon. “Sorry if this is weird, but what do you do?”

 

Clint just laughs. “I’m a tattoo artist.”

 

Bucky passes the drink across the table. “No shit? At Captain’s? Man, I didn’t know you worked right next door.” 

 

“Haha, yeah. I’ve been there for a long time. I own it now, actually, with another one of the guys who work there.”

 

“I guess that makes the daily visits make a little more sense then.” 

 

“Did you think that-” Clint stops talking to take a sip of his latte. He doesn’t say anything, just staring at Bucky in awe. 

 

“You like it?”

 

“Like?” Clint gasps. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Ever, probably. It’s like drinking-”

 

“A cinnamon roll?” 

 

“Yes!” 

 

“I found the recipe on the internet last night; I’ve been waiting all day to try it out on you.” 

 

“I’m honored.”

 

“It wasn’t too hard. Caramel, vanilla, a little bit of brown sugar, and some cinnamon, obviously.” 

 

“I feel blessed. Humans do not deserve this. I understand why people build monuments and altars to things now.” 

 

“So I should put it on the menu?”

 

Clint just nods his head. 

 

Bucky lets Clint drink his latte in peace for a couple minutes as he finishes cleaning up. He takes a couple phone orders for croissants and pastries for early the next morning, and then locks the door and turns over the sign that invites customers in. 

 

Clint is only half done. “I can leave, the shop has-”

 

Bucky waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it, I have to bake a batch of the chocolate croissants anyway. I was going to make myself a chicken sandwich, want something?” 

 

“Nah,” Clint cradles his cup closer. “I feel like this probably has a full day’s worth of calories in it, so I’m good.” 

 

Bucky shrugs. “Your loss.” 

 

He starts warming up some of the leftover grilled chicken from lunch, slowly assembling the sandwich to perfection. He grabs a couple leftover strips and slips quietly out the back door into the alley. He clicks his tongue a couple of times and begins tearing the chicken into tiny pieces. 

 

“What’re you-”

 

“Sshhhhhh.” Bucky quiets Clint as he slowly drops pieces of chicken on the ground. A rattling sound comes from a trashcan, and out from behind it shoots a dark ball of fur. It slows down, far enough away that neither one of them can reach the cat. “Hey, kitty.” Bucky almost purrs, as he gently drops pieces of chicken in front of the cat. The cat eyes Bucky distrustfully before quickly grabbing one of the pieces, bringing it back behind the trashcan before it starts to eat. 

 

“Do you feed _all_ the alley cats?”

 

“No,” Bucky feels defensive. “Usually just this one, though he’s brought friends with him before.” 

 

“It’s funny, I’m pretty sure one of my coworkers feeds the same cat. He’s totally playing you guys.” 

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Animals can’t _play_ people, Clint.” 

 

Clint walks back inside, pretty sure that he can hear the mangy thing _purring_ from behind the trashcan. 

 

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

 

Steve’s been having a pretty fantastic day. He didn’t have to come in till 11, and even that was pretty much just to do book work. His appointments today have all been polite. He even got a call from a relatively famous person interested in a commission. So, all in all, his day has been pretty great. 

 

Except for the barista at Howling Commando’s. The guy is an idiot. Steve has been ordering coffee--medium, regular, black--from the place for at least a month now, and this morning the guy tried to hand him a large tooth decay in a cup. Steve didn’t even have to take a drink to know, he could smell the sugar coming out of the cup in waves. 

 

He’s actually a little proud of himself for how well he handled it. He hadn’t shouted or screamed at the guy--as he wanted to--but simply raised an eyebrow and set the cup back on the counter. It had only taken the barista all of three seconds to figure out what had happened. He had flushed a shade of deep red that Steve hadn’t known was humanly possible, and handed the caffeinated sugar to a tiny teenage girl that probably should have been in school. 

 

He almost wanted to tell the story to Clint, when he eventually made it to the shop, as proof that he doesn’t _always_ need coffee to not be an asshole. Just most of the time. 

 

He didn’t tell Clint though, because Clint wouldn’t have heard “I didn’t yell and scream.” Clint would have heard “I made the guy feel like an idiot in front of other customers.” Clint has very Midwestern sensibilities. 

 

So instead he’s letting Clint ramble on about the guys he’s working nights for, some guy named Kurt who he’s doing some very intricate line work on.

 

“What time did you finish last night’s session at?”

 

“We started at 12 and went till 4. Kurt wanted to keep going, but I told him that I was totally beat.” 

 

“Make sure I see it when you’re done, it sounds cool.”

 

Clint stretches back in his chair, pulling his arms above his head. “I like to think so.”

 

Steve just rolls his eyes. “And so modest too.”

 

“Oh!” Clint practically shoots out of his chair. “Speaking of modest, I think I might have found your soulmate.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Steve holds back another eye-roll. Clint does this at least once a month. The last guy was straight. “Who this time?”

 

“The guy who owns H.C.”

 

“You saw the owner?” Steve’s interest is piqued. He’s been trying to figure out the owner since Lucille had originally sold the place. “What’s he like?”

 

“He’s nice. Pretty attractive, though I’m not the best judge of that. He laughs when I say funny things, but that might be because I’m keeping him in business. Also, he was feeding Rocky.”

 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Like ‘throwing out leftovers in Rocky’s general direction, or-”

 

Clint is smiling like a fourth-grader at recess. “No, as in a ‘warming up leftover chicken and tearing it into bite-sized chunks’ kind of way.” 

 

Steve makes a noncommittal noise and continues to sort through the paperwork he’s been procrastinating on.

 

“C’mon, Steve. Don’t act like you’re not even _a little_ interested.”

 

“Clint, even if I _was_ interested, which I’m not, you don’t even know if he’s attracted to guys. And if he _was_ attracted to guys, you don’t know if he would be attracted to me. Or vice versa.” 

 

“Oh yeah, because you’re _so_ picky about who you-” Clint stops talking when Steve throws a pen at him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays!!!! (I meant to post this yesterday as a sort-of Christmas present, but... obviously I didn't) ENJOY!

Bucky can tell that people are really starting to feel at home at H.C. There are some school groups that meet here regularly--those discounts _totally_ paid off--and one English teacher approached him yesterday about starting an open mic night a couple times a month. He’s sent some feelers out to some nearby art teachers, seeing if some of their students would be interested in showcasing some of their art here. 

It’s helped that he’s finally decided to hire some help. Pietro and Wanda are both in high school, so they usually only take the evening shifts, but they’ve made Bucky’s life about a million times easier. Plus, he’s pretty sure their presence has made even more students use H.C. as a hangout after school. 

While Wanda and Pietro take over the as cashier and barista--respectively--Bucky is free to work on the books, which while by no means his _favorite_ job, is definitely something that needs to be completed. 

Bucky doesn’t let Pietro take Clint’s orders though. He’s gotten used to seeing the guy at least a couple times a day. And though he wouldn’t admit it to anyway, he can feel himself slowly developing a crush on Clint. He’s 95% sure that Clint is straight, and Bucky is pretty sure that Clint is _at least_ talking to someone, if not in a relationship. He’s been buying two coffees at a time for a couple weeks now. Bucky wants to ask him about the mystery person, but he’s not sure if they’re _that_ close of friends yet. 

The icing on the cake is that the small, attractive, blonde jerk hasn’t been back for a while. Bucky knows that he should be upset about losing sales, but honestly, the $3 was not worth putting up with his grumpy-ass attitude. 

“Bucky!” Clint is loud as ever when he walks through the door. “My favorite coffee-machine! I mean, uh… friend.” 

“Thanks, Clint. I can feel the genuine respect that you have for me as a person.” Wanda moves from the cash register without even being told. “What can I get for you today?” 

“A cinnamon roll latte, large, and a medium half-and-half regular coffee, please.”

Bucky starts on the drinks immediately, moving to let Wanda take the next customer. “Half and half? Usually your _friend_ gets regular, something different?” 

“Nah, I’m not gonna tell him that it’s not fully caffeinated. He’s been a real ass today, and I’m pretty sure that he hasn’t been sleeping.”

“That’s sweet of you.” Bucky feels like doing a somersault. _He_. Maybe Clint _is_ into guys after all. “This guy, he’s _just_ a friend?” 

Clint laughs and is still laughing as Bucky slides over the drinks. “Steve’s more like my little brother than anything else. A grouchy, angsty, kind-hearted brother that would punch me if he heard me refer to him as my ‘little’ brother.” 

“Does he work at Captain’s too?” 

“Yep, we own it together, actually. I would say that I’m all the talent, and he keeps track of the money, but he’s definitely a lot better than I am.”

“Well,” Bucky laughs lightly, upset that he doesn’t know anything about Clint’s preferences, but happy that he might be single. “I hope the coffee puts Steve in a better mood. Does chocolate work on him? I could throw in a croissant, on the house.” 

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Is this a ploy for both of us to become addicted to your food as well as your coffee?”

Bucky raises his hands. “You’ve caught me.” He grabs two chocolate croissants from behind the glass counter. “Worse case scenario, he’s still in such a bad mood that you get to eat both of them.” 

Clint sighs overdramatically. “I don’t know if you realize what you mean to me, Bucky. I really don’t.” 

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Steve looks up from his paperwork as soon as Clint walks through the door. He doesn’t even have to ask before Clint sets the steaming cup of coffee down in front of him. “Thanks,” he grumbles under his breath. 

Between his lung issues flaring up again recently, a shitty work week (PSA: tip your tattoo artists), and moving out of his shithole apartment into a slightly-less-shithole apartment, Steve is on the very edge of murdering the next person that looks at him wrong, so he’s happy when Clint doesn’t respond and just continues over to his work station, readying the area for his next appointment. 

It’s been slow today, but Steve has been too tired to really care. He’s become financially stable enough in the last couple of years so that one bad weeks won’t hurt anything. They work in silence for several minutes, both of them absorbed in their own tasks. 

“Oh, by the way…” Clint throws a thin paper bag over to him. It still feels a little warm. 

“What’s this?” Steve asks, too confused to be annoyed. 

“Your _soulmate_ sent it with me when he heard that you were having a bad day.” 

“My soulmate…” He unwraps the bag to find a delicious-smelling chocolate croissant. _Oh._ Clint still hasn’t let up on his current crusade then. “Clint, the man hasn’t even met me before.” 

“I _know_. That’s just further proof. He didn’t even charge me for them, a free sample out of the goodness of his heart.” Steve watches Clint brush the chocolate crumbs from his own face. “And they’re freaking fantastic, so if you’re not going to eat it…” 

“I didn’t say that, I just-”

“Eat the freaking thing, Steve. It can’t hurt anything at this point.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but takes a small bite of the croissant. It’s heavenly, warm and flaky and just the right amount of chocolatey. He has to consciously hold back a moan. This is what the dumbass barista had offered him that first day, wasn’t it? Steve could have been eating these the whole time. He’s such an idiot. 

Clint just raises an eyebrow. “Good, right?” 

Steve just nods, not quite prepared to stop his food-worship to think of actual words. 

When he finishes, a small part of him is considering getting up from his desk and making his way over to H.C. They probably sell them by the dozen if you ask. 

He snorts. “‘Free sample out of the goodness of his heart,’ my ass. The fucker just wanted to get us hooked on his food. We’re going to spend a fortune there.”

Clint laughs. “There’s the Steve we know and love.” 

He laughter doubles when Steve flips him off. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve aches all over as he walks to work. The walk it shorter now, with his apartment closer, but moving all his junk from one place to another has left him sore and grouchier than even the day before. He hasn’t stopped there in weeks, relying on Clint to bring him his caffeine fix, but he walks into H.C., the familiar scent calming him as he walks through the door. 

The coffee shop seems relatively empty, but that’s probably not unusual for a weekday at this time. Most people are at work or school. There are a couple college-aged students typing away at laptops, and one mother who has daringly brought three young children in with her, presumably for an early lunch.

Steve had been hoping to catch sight of the elusive owner, _his soulmate_ he can almost hear Clint’s voice in his head. He rolls his eyes and stands at the counter, wondering where the barista on duty has gone off to. 

When he looks down, he sees the regular jock-barista bent down messing with the pastry display case. _Damn._

He clears his throat, minorly upset that the owner isn’t here. 

The barista almost hits his head when he pops up from behind the display case. “Good morning, how can I-” He stops, the smile vanishing from his face. “Nevermind, just give me a second.” It takes him less than a minute to get his regular order together. Steve starts to feel a little guilty, maybe he had been a bit more rude than he had any right to be. 

“Actually… uh… could you throw in one of those chocolate croissant things?” 

The barista raises an eyebrow. “They’re a couple minutes from coming out of the oven, is that ok?” 

Steve, uncomfortable, nods. “Yeah, I can wait. No big deal.” 

A smile, though a smaller one, is back on the barista’s face. “So why the treat today? If I can remember right, you usually prefer just a coffee.”

“I...uh…” He looks behind him, wishing more than anything that someone else would need to talk to the barista. “I’ve had a shitty couple of weeks, I guess. Just feel like I need some chocolate.” This guy doesn’t need to know that his boss sent him a free croissant and that now Steve is totally hooked on them. 

The barista just nods. “Everybody deserves a treat now and then.” Steve cranes his neck to try and see if the man is wearing a nametag, but he can’t find one. 

The barista holds out Steve’s cup of coffee, but as Steve goes to grab it, one of the muscles in his shoulder decides to spasm, and the wince across his face is obvious. 

“Are you okay? Do I need to-”

“I’m fine.” Steve takes the coffee and--slowly--brings it to his mouth so as to not agitate his muscles anymore. “Just a little sore. I moved to a different apartment. Some of the boxes were a little heavier than I expected.” 

The man disappears for a minute, coming back with a tray of croissants. Most of them are chocolate, but there seem to be an assortment of other flavors as well. Steve can’t help but wonder what the other flavors taste like. 

“Just one, right?”

Steve almost nods, but then stops himself. “Actually… what other flavors are there?” 

The man’s face lights up as he begins to run through the different flavors. “Chocolate is the most popular, but we have the regular kind of course. Recently we’ve been experimenting with a few new flavors, adding a new flavor every week or two and then keeping the ones that go over well. This weeks experimental flavor is almost like a blueberry muffin, but in croissant form. We sell blueberry muffins already, so it I didn’t really even need to order anything extra.”

“Yeah, I’ll take one of those too.” _Is Clint working yet?_ “Actually, throw in two of each. If I don’t bring some back to work, my partner will pout the rest of the morning.” 

“Understandable.” He packs away four of the croissants into one of the small paper bags and hands them to Steve. The man is still smiling as he rings Steve up, sounding sincere when he tells him to enjoy the pastries. 

Clint enjoys the chocolate more, but Steve almost moans at the first bite of the blueberry. He’s going to spend so much money on these things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you guys might like this one :DDD

After coming in for the coffee and croissants that morning, the blonde man starts once again making regular appearances at H.C. Something must have happened to him, because he’s not nearly as rude and snarky as before. Well, he’s just as snarky, but when he makes the comments about his coffee taking too long, or his croissant--always the blueberry--being a little overdone, there’s always a lighthearted glint in his eye. Bucky can tell that he’s joking, teasing Bucky now when before it had just felt mean. 

The blueberry croissants haven’t been as widespread of a hit as some of the other experiments. Chocolate still sells the fastest, and peanut butter and strawberry have gone over a lot better than blueberry, but the guy just looks so happy every time he sees that they’re still selling the blueberry muffin croissants. For some reason, Bucky can’t bring himself to disappoint the man, even though he doesn’t know his name. 

It’s after the lunch rush when he walks in, but the man looks like he just rolled out of bed. “Good morning?” Bucky asks, not able to keep the laugh out of his voice. “Rough night last night?” He just nods, hands stretched out towards the coffee. 

Bucky goes ahead and pours him his regular. The coffee hasn’t even cooled off before the man is drinking greedily. He takes a seat on the stool next to the cash register, gently laying his head down against the counter. 

Bucky laughs. “That bad?” 

“You have no idea...” he grumbles in return. He looks up, peeking behind his hands. “I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”

Bucky’s surprised by the question, but goes into his standard response. “My name is James-”

“Well James,” He interrupts. “My name is Steve. And I may be the most idiotic person on the planet.” 

“What did you do?” 

“I work with these guys. _Big guys._ Guys who could walk anywhere into any bar in the world and not be messed with. Some of these guys are freaking _tanks_.”

“Okay?”

“I went out drinking with these guys...”

“Oh no.” 

“Oh yes. Do you know how many shots a 6’2”, 250 pound man can take before he’s wasted? A lot. A lot of very potent shots.”

Bucky can’t help but laugh. “And I’m guessing your number of shots is a little bit lower?”

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, just a few less. Or an entire bottle. Whatever.” 

“Something tells me this isn’t the first time you’ve done this though.”

Steve looks up, an eyebrow raised. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know. Just something about your personality.” 

“These guys were so stupid. How could they have made me drink that much.”

Bucky pats Steve gently on the arm. “Aww, but who’s the more foolish, the fool, or the fool who follows him?” 

“You did not just try to quote Star Wars at a hungover man.”

Bucky raises his hands up. “Do or do not, there is no try.” 

Steve’s eyes get all squinty when he laughs. The laugh is full and deeper than Bucky would have expected, his eyes watering as he doubles over at Bucky’s poor attempt at humor. 

When he’s finally calmed down, Steve sticks out his lower lip. “Can I have-” Bucky is already pulling a croissant out of the display case. “God, you’re perfect.” 

Bucky just snorts. “I try; I try.” 

It takes more than 15 minutes for Steve--it’s nice to finally know his name--to function well enough to leave the stool, but by the time he leaves, he looks a lot less pale, and Bucky doesn’t feel quite so worried about him anymore. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that, Steve becomes much more talkative when he’s at H.C. He makes other customer’s laugh while they’re waiting in line, usually at Bucky’s expense. It’s nice. Though Bucky had started off hating the man, he’s starting to feel like he has a friend. 

Which is especially nice now that Clint isn’t coming in as often. He doesn’t know what happened, but all of the sudden Clint is only coming in a couple times a week, where he had been visiting every single day, sometimes more than once. Even with Steve as a sort-of-replacement, it still stings a little bit. When Clint does come by, he’s just as talkative though, so Bucky isn’t sure if the man is actually mad at him, or if Clint has just decided to cut back on his caffeine intake. 

He looks forward to Steve’s visits just as much though. Steve might not be as easygoing as Clint was, but he’s just as entertaining, and even a little more Bucky’s type than Clint was. He’s never been able to resist scrawny guys with a take-charge kind of attitude. It makes Bucky a little squirmy just thinking about it. 

“You’re daydreaming about him again.” Natasha interrupts his thoughts. 

“Daydreaming about who?” Natasha denies it every time, but Bucky is pretty sure that she’s not only a government spy, but also a mind reader. There’s no way that she’s just an accountant. She’s way too much of a badass for that. 

“I know that you like to pretend, but I’m really not an idiot. Every customer who walks in here knows you’ve got a crush on the guy.”

“I do not.” 

“But you know who I’m talking about, and I haven’t even said his name yet.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t have a crush on _anybody_ so it doesn’t matter who you’re talking about.” 

Nat raises an eyebrow. “Really, then what’s that paper bag for?” She points to the paper bag behind the cash register. 

“Saving food for regulars is not the same thing as a crush,” he huffs, annoyed at his best friend for noticing the bag. 

“Sure, James. Whatever you want to say.” 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

“You’re too happy. I feel like I need to go steal some children’s balloons in order to balance out the universe or something.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I don’t steal children’s balloons, Clint. Don’t be an idiot.” 

“Okay. Then I need to go protest in front of law enforcement. Or maybe paint some social justice graffiti somewhere. You’re messing with the feng shui of the place.” 

“I’m not 100% sure that you know what feng shui means.” 

“I don’t, but we don’t have it any more. We used to have it, and now we don’t. I can feel it.” Steve just nods, hoping to get his friend to shut up for once in his life. “You didn’t even roll your eyes at that! Something is definitely wrong.”

“I’m not in a different mood than I normally am, Clint. Give it a rest.” 

“So it doesn’t have anything to do with your _soulmate_?”

“I still haven’t met this supposed _soulmate_ of mine. I’m beginning to think we need to have you checked out for schizophrenia or something.” 

“What do you mean you haven’t met him? You’re there almost every day.” 

“Yeah, but this guy, he had a weird name, right?”

“Yeah,” Clint nods. “Bucky. He owns the place, but he makes the coffee too.” As if he needs to clarify what they do in a coffee shop. 

“Well, the guy I’ve been talking to when I’m there, his name is James.” 

“Oh,” Clint looks confused. “Well, that’s weird.” 

“It’s true though. I promise.” 

“Have you gotten his number yet though? I mean, it’s obvious that you like him.” 

“It’s more complicated than that, Clint. I don’t even know if he’s into _guys_ yet. And he seems kind of okay, so I don’t want to ruin a friendship if he’s not.” 

“If a guy can’t be friends with you after you ask for his number, you shouldn’t be friends with him.” 

“Would _you_ have stayed friends with me, if I would have asked for your phone number?”

Clint just laughs. “Hell yeah, I would have. Talk about a confidence booster, am I right? I would have held that over your head _forever_.”

“Okay, Clint. But not everyone is you. Trust me.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
As much as Steve likes to tell Clint to shut up, he does think he might be developing a crush on James. He has found the barista attractive since he walked into H.C. that first day, but it’s only been recently that he’s found the barista distractingly beautiful. 

The way one strand of his hair comes undone and falls in front of his face during a big rush of customers, and the self-satisfied expression he wears anytime he makes someone laugh. The way he talks to the teenagers who come into the coffee shop, sympathizing with them even when Steve would have wanted to scream at them for being shallow. James is everything that Steve could never be. Understanding and gentle. Funny without being offensive. He talks to anyone with the same amount of familiarity. Steve’s not sure how he didn’t notice the soft smile James gives to every customer in the first weeks of H.C. being open, but now seeing that smile is one of best parts of Steve’s day. 

So, yeah. Maybe just a _tiny_ crush.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author apologizes 1)for taking so freaking long 2)for any typos this may (DOES, probably) include. THANKS FOR READING!
> 
> Also: My tentative planning for this is showing that it will probably end up like 8-9 chapters! If y'all are interested after that's done, I /could/ be persuaded to do some outtakes, but we'll see <3 :P

Bucky doesn’t know how he got through his days before Steve. When Steve is around, it’s like he doesn’t even see anybody else--he’s actually almost forgotten about a few customers that way--and when Steve _isn’t_ around, Bucky’s usually daydreaming about him. It’s… Bucky doesn’t want to call it fate, but it sure feels like it is. 

“Are you ever going to ask _Steve_ out? Because I’m tired of your mooning over him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, though he knows that Natasha can see through him more easily than anybody ever has. “I don’t _moon_ over him, Nat. Don’t be overly dramatic.”

“Oh really?” She asks. “What were you thinking about when you spilled the coffee down yourself earlier today.” She gestures at the coffee stain covering most of his thigh. “And when you were taking the muffins out of the oven and burned your thumb?” She points at the bandage he has wrapped around the thumb in question. “And when you put that teenage girl’s order in wrong earlier?”

Bucky’s not sure why he feels defensive about the whole thing, but he does. “That’s--I don’t remember what I was thinking about, so that’s not fair.”

“But it was probably Steve?”

Bucky can feel himself blushing. “Fuck off, Nat.”

“I’m just saying, I think it may be dangerous to let this crush grow unchecked. You might accidentally burn down the building.” 

“I’m a little clumsy. I’ve _always_ been a little clumsy. That’s not going to change any time soon.” 

“Just ask him for his number. Hell, ask him for his number completely platonically if you need to. Just do it.” 

“Whatever.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bucky’s heart jumps--just a little bit--whenever Steve is the first person through the door in the morning. He wouldn’t tell anybody this, but the days Steve manages to come before the morning rush are Bucky’s favorite days. Steve is usually still groggy with sleep, his hair not quite in place, his expressions softer. 

He loves every time Steve comes to H.C., but morning Steve is his favorite by far. 

“You’re up early today.” Bucky points out as he makes Steve’s cup of coffee. A bonus of predictability, Steve doesn’t even need to ask for his order to be made. 

“Yeah,” Steve yawns. It may be the most adorable thing that Bucky has ever witnessed, though something tells him that if he were to point that out to Steve, he would probably get a death glare from hell. An adorable death glare, but a death glare nonetheless. “I have a meeting in an hour. I figured that I should pregame beforehand, I usually look like death right after I wake up.” 

Bucky’s eyes unconsciously scan down Steve’s body. He smiles. “I wouldn’t say _death_.” _Shit._ He expects Steve to say something, call him out for flirting, but he just looks down, blushing. Hope shoots through Bucky like 4th of July fireworks. 

Steve seems to regain his composure pretty quickly, rolling his eyes. “Well we can’t all wake up looking like Calvin Klein models every day.”

Bucky should probably blush, but he’s just happy. “Calvin Klein models are overrated.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not everybody would agree with you.”

“Well,” Bucky looks at Steve pointedly, raising one eyebrow high. “Fuck everybody.” 

Steve looks a little taken aback. There’s something, an emotion Bucky doesn’t quite recognize, playing across his face. He masks it quickly. “Yep,” His voice sounds strange, and not at all like himself. “That’s the plan.” 

Bucky bursts out laughing, and the slight tension that had been between them is broken. “Would you like a scone?" Bucky mock offers up a couple different options. 

Steve, nothing if not predictable--but so much _more_ than predictable--points to his regular flavor. Bucky doesn't even make a joke about it, his heart still racing from what _almost_ felt like flirting? He's 99% sure that it was flirting. 

"Got a second to sit? No big deal if you're in a hurry, but no one else should be here for another 20 or 30 minutes..." _Oh God, that sounded much more suggestive than Bucky meant it to._

Steve doesn't even raise an eyebrow, and Bucky breathes easily again, ignoring the small part of his brain that wishes Steve would have rolled with his suggestion. 

"I guess I can spare a few minutes. I'd just have to do book work if I went to work this early anyway."

Bucky ignores the giddy, lighthearted feeling bouncing around his chest as he makes himself a coffee. He tries not to indulge in his favorite flavors too often, but this feels like a special occasion. 

“Jesus, James, you’re worst than Barton. I’ve never seen so much sugar in a coffee before in my life. I’m not even 100% sure it still _qualifies_ as coffee anymore.” 

Bucky laughs. “I’ll have you know that it most definitely is still coffee.” Bucky checks the timer on the few pans of pastries that are still in the oven, and then he takes a seat next to Steve. “I happen to be an authority on these sorts of things.” 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

James is… flirting with him? Steve had walked through the door looking like complete trash. His hair was everywhere--and not in the cute, well-planned way that so many people manage--but in a _wow, I just got out of bed and didn’t even do anything even though I should have_ sort of way. His jeans are at least two or three years out-of-style, and his shirt has a stain of the sub par instant coffee that he had tried to make himself this morning. 

But James is still looking him up and down in a way that makes Steve’s heart stutter, though that might just be his arrhythmia doing weird things to his body. Usually when guys look Steve up and down, Steve’s skin crawls. It's usually a predatory look. People see his small frame, his thin limbs, and they see something they can dominate without any chance of Steve fighting back. James just looks… curious. There’s a playful glint in his eye that makes Steve want to pull him onto the nearest flat surface. 

Steve’s pretty sure that the barista would taste like sugar. The amount of stuff he poured into his coffee makes Steve feel jittery just thinking about it. 

“Steve? You still there?” 

“Oh,” Steve blushes. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sorry, just still a little tired.” 

“You’re fine. Just didn’t want you falling asleep in your chair. My reflexes are decent, but I’m not sure if I could catch you before you fell.” 

“I don’t know, that might be pretty good publicity for H.C.”

“I don’t know if that’s _exactly_ the kind of publicity we’re looking for.”

There’s a pause in the conversation, and Steve looks down at the last of his coffee, though he can feel James’ eyes on him. He knows that if he looks up, he’ll blush bright red like a twelve-year-old. He’s not used to this… not used to people like _James_ paying attention to him. James nice and funny, let alone built as hell. 

Steve looks up for just a second, and James is smiling at him. “Steve?” He sounds nervous, and the feeling bleeds out into Steve. “Uh… I was wondering… could… I… could I have your number?” It feels as if Steve’s entire brain just shuts off. His brain is screaming _NOD. SAY YES. REPLY. DO SOMETHING. ANYTHING._ , but it’s like the circuits aren’t connecting. James, still sounding nervous, continues. “It’s just… my friend. I think you’d really like her. And we were all going to get drinks later this week, and I- we were wondering if you wanted to come. I guess?” 

“I… Yes. I mean, as long as I don’t have to work, definitely.” Steve pulls out his phone, quickly unlocking it and opening up the contacts. “Just… um-- put yourself in… I guess.” 

James takes the phone and quickly types in the number. Steve can feel blood rushing to his face. Damn his ghostly complexion. James looks as if he’s about to say something, when a buzzer goes off. 

“Motherfucker!” James jumps up from his seat and runs behind the counter, where he pulls a tray of various pastries out of the oven. Steve can’t help but to laugh. “This isn’t funny, Steve.” But he sounds on the verge of giggling. 

Steve looks at the time. “Shit, my meeting starts in five minutes!” 

James laughs even harder. “Not so funny when it’s _you_ is it?” 

But Steve is already on his way out the door, hardly taking the time to wave at the barista as he leaves. 

If the rest of the day follows this vein, it’s going to be a long day. But as Steve remembers James’ soft smile, the way he laughed when Steve said something snarky, and the number sitting in his phone, and he decides that while the day might be _long_ , it might not necessarily be _bad_. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He retypes the message what feels like 40 times. Adding exclamation marks and then deciding that they look to eager, and then deciding that he doesn’t look eager _enough_. Changing _hey_ to _hi_ and then back again. 

**To James: Hey! This is Steve**

He waits. He had debated for hours how long to wait before he texted, and now James is surely in the middle of some sort of lunch rush. And then he might be too busy getting ready for the after-school rush to check his phone. It could be hours before-- 

Steve’s phone buzzes in his pocket. 

**From James: Hey! Glad I put my number in right lol. Was worried that I didn’t :P**

When Steve had first seen James, when Steve was too busy being a dick to realize just how perfect the man was, he would not have pegged the barista for an emoticon-user. Now, it doesn’t surprise him in the least. 

**To James: Shouldn’t you be working or something?**

The reply is immediate. 

**From James: Shouldn’t you? I have minions to do my bidding. No school today!**

Did he just use the word minions in a serious way? What kind of person has Steve befriended?

 **To James: Oh how very responsible of you.**

Yeah, Steve decides, today might not be so bad after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trash author is trash :( I'd make excuses, but I really just am WAY too easily distracted during my free time. Read the end notes. I want your guys' opinion on a (very minor) subplot! 
> 
> Also, hopefully the next one will be up faster than this one was! Un-beta'ed, so comment all my errors. Comment-er with the most helpful corrections wins... something... Idk what...
> 
> Update(2/14/2017): OH MY GOD I'M AN IDIOT. I spent so much time making sure that Steve only thought of Bucky as James, I didn't even notice the error I made in their last conversation. Sorry to all the people who read it!!! Steve doesn't know that Bucky/James owns H.C. yet!!!

Bucky has to physically restrain himself from constantly texting Steve. The cafe is busy, and he knows it would be irresponsible to leave all of the work up to the two teenagers that he employs. 

But _damn_ is the idea tempting. 

He sets time limits for himself, which he mostly ignores. But the half-hour _time limit_ does bring the _actual_ time before he replies to at least fifteen minutes, usually. 

It’s seven p.m, and there are only a few lingering souls left in H.C, when Bucky finally allows himself to have an _actual_ conversation with the man. 

**To Steve: So… those drinks I mentioned?**

His phone buzzes with a reply almost instantly. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he opens up the message.

**From Steve: Yeah?**

**To Steve: Does tomorrow night work for you?**

**From Steve: Hmmmm… I’ll have to check my calendar…**

**From Steve: Just kidding. I’m a loser. Obviously I’m free. Mind if I bring a friend as well?**

Bucky is almost embarrassed at the sigh of relief that escapes his lips as soon as he receives the message. Of course, he knows that it’s not a date, but _still_. It’s at least not just talking from across a counter. 

He sends a strong of excited, affirmative emojis in response. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bucky is _jittery_ , it’s been years since he’s been jittery before going out. Of course, it’s been months since the last time he had even considered going out, but that’s beside the point. 

He sorts through his closet what feels like a thousand times before deciding on something to wear, eventually just wearing a classic-looking, gray, henley shirt with black jeans that could be painted on. He knows it’s nothing too exciting, but he _also_ knows that he looks good. 

He pretends that he’s not trying to impress anyone in particular. 

He meets Nat at her house. She, predictably, looks a little annoyed. 

“Why the _fuck_ did you even invite me? Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to watch you get drunk any time you ask, but inviting your friends along is _not_ a good way to accomplish a dating vibe.” 

“Nat, I’m not even sure if he’s into me yet. And he’s bringing a friend too.” 

“Oh great, so I can make awkward conversation with his friend while the pair of you obliviously eye fuck each other.”

“See?” Bucky lightly taps her on the shoulder. “I _knew_ that you’d be excited to go.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You _owe_ me one, Barnes.” 

The bar is a little crowded, but not too bad for a Friday night. Bucky’s just glad that he didn’t pick one of the trendier bars in the area. It’s hard enough to talk to Steve when he’s supposed to be working, he’s sure it would be even more difficult in a crowded bar. 

Nat, though probably still annoyed, has promised to at least act like a well-adjusted, sociable person for the next couple of hours, in exchange for a month’s worth of free coffee. (Bucky had offered a week, she had countered with a year, it had taken them almost the entire trip to the bar to agree on a month.) 

The speed at which Nat could appear completely warm and welcoming despite being annoyed was terrifying, and Bucky’s not going to lie to himself, a little attractive. There was a reason that Natasha had every guy--and quite a few girls--falling at her feet. She’s good at literally everything she does. 

Bucky had made sure that they would arrive slightly early. He didn’t want Steve to have to awkwardly wait for them to arrive. He’s lucky that he planned ahead, because it’s only a few minutes later when Steve walks through the door. 

Steve looks _good_. Bucky is used to seeing him early in the morning or late in the evening, either with shaggy bedhead or hardly keeping himself after working all day. _And where **does** he work, dammit_ , Bucky promises that he’ll ask tonight. But he can hardly hold that train of thought for more than a few seconds before he’s appreciating the way that Steve’s shirt shows off just the perfect amount of collarbones. It’s white, almost translucent. With Steve’s naturally-pale skin, the absence of color should make him appear washed-out, but instead, Bucky is noticing his tattoos for the first time. They’re all in black; he can see the hint of some peaking out behind the collar of his shirt. 

But his arms are the real artwork. Bucky hadn’t even noticed until now that he has never seen Steve in anything except long sleeves. It’s like a million tiny pieces of art cover every inch of his arms, starting at his wrist and climbing up his arm as far as Bucky can see. 

“James,” Natasha hisses. “You’re staring.” 

_Shit._

“Hi, James.” 

“Hey, Steve.” 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Steve’s a little disappointed in how long it took to convince Sam to tag along. He had been under the impression that _he_ was supposed to be the friend that hated socializing with people. 

Of course, Sam had relented in the end, but it had taken a lot of effort to talk him into it. Steve had been forced into promising to pay for drinks. 

Steve’s life is hard. 

When he sees James sitting at a booth with the pretty redhead who frequents H.C., his heart starts fluttering in what is starting to be a concerning way. Steve doesn’t exactly have the type of heart that can just nonchalantly _flutter_ without there being some worrying involved. 

Sam just whistles. “Is _she_ your competition? Because I don’t think I’m _near_ her league. Not even her pity, rebound league. Like, I think I’d have to be famous _and_ rich for her not to just laugh in my face.” 

“Wow, Sam. Thanks for the pep talk. You’re a Grade A wingman.” 

“I’m just calling it how I see it, Steve. Don’t shoot the messenger.” 

“I think they’re just friends, anyway…” 

James turns around, and Steve can feel the man’s eyes rake up and down his body, somehow managing to be complimenting instead of creepy. 

“I take that back,” Sam sighs. “I think you’re going to be just fine. _I_ , on the other hand, am about to be eaten alive.” 

“Hi, James.”

“Hi, Steve.” Steve has lost count of the number of times that he’s seen James blush, but he can’t help but being completely distracted by it every time. It both men a few seconds to completely regain their composure, but eventually James manages to find his manners. “This is Natasha.” 

“Sam.” Steve very eloquently points back at his own plus one. 

“Ma’am?” Sam holds out his hand towards the redhead, who at first simply raises an eyebrow before surrendering her hand. "Est ce que ton ami est dans le déni total face à ce rendez-vous ou est-ce que c'est juste le mien ?” 

Steve doesn’t have a clue what Sam has said, but Natasha’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Déni.” She says simply. “And you’re lucky I speak French.” 

“What can I say? You just give off the air of someone well-cultured.” 

Natasha seems pleased with his response. “James, this man and I are going to get drinks. I’m sure we’ll be back soon.” 

Steve can’t stop himself from laughing as soon as their friends are out of earshot. “Do you have any idea what the hell just happened?”

James seems completely shocked, his mouth still hanging open. “I’ve never seen a guy try _anything_ like that on Nat without having a drink splashed in their face. He must have had one hell of a line.” 

“Sam is literally the _least_ smooth person that I know. I’ve never seen him deliver _any_ line, let alone a good one.” 

They sit in companionable silence for just a few seconds, watching their friends make their way to the bar. 

“Steve,” James interrupts his train of thought, “You… you look good tonight.” 

“Thanks,” Steve can feel himself flushing, “It’s probably strange to see me without the look of pre-caffeine death that I usually wear around your place, right?”

“I don’t know.” James shrugs. “The pre-caffeine thing is kind of cute on you.” 

“Oh yeah, sure.” James looks like he’s going to continue to protest, so Steve quickly changes the topic. “So, you don't exactly strike me as the barista type, why H.C.?”

“Oh,” James is blushing again. “It was Nat, actually. I worked at couple of coffee shops while I was in college, and I’ve loved baking pastries and such since my grandmother first showed me. I graduated college with a business degree that I wasn’t actually sure what to do with, and Nat kind of pushed me in the right direction, I guess. It took a couple of years of _actual_ working to save up the money I needed, but it all paid off in the end.” 

Steve can’t believe that he had thought Bucky was nothing but a stupid jock that first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: A HUGE thank you to TheHappyEgg for help with the French! The translation goes something like  
>  Sam: Is your friend oblivious about this date too or is it just mine?  
>  Nat: Oblivious. 
> 
>  
> 
> SECOND: How do you guys feel about Nat/Sam vs. Nat/Clint?!?! I love Nat/Clint, and that was my original plan (still a possibility!) But what do you guys like? Should it be Nat/Sam and Clint/Sugar? Nat/Clint and Sam/Himself? I'm very open to ideas!


End file.
